Fools Gold
by miss-cold
Summary: [Hunchback of Notre Dame] Love was like that golden gleaming metal. And Lovers so easily fooled. Soft slash.


A/N: I love Disney, but I think these two characters needed a little something more from the ending they recieved. If you see the name Frink anywhere, it was my code name for Clopin, please leave a note telling me if I accidently missed changing it.

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns all, in fact it's taking over the world as we speak.

I own nothing and i'm definitely not making money from this.

**Warning**: mild malexmale, slash, yaoi etc. Please don't read if you think you might be offended by this.

**Fools Gold**

Clopin watched as Esmeralda, his beautiful dancing girl, took the hand of the knight. He'd seen the way she had caught the blonde's eye when they had performed at the festival, had seen the way she taunted him with the sway of her skirt and the glitter of Fools Gold dancing on tanned skin.

Love was like that golden gleaming metal.

And Lovers so easily fooled.

Sinking into the crowd that had gathered on the stairs of the famous bell tower, he tried not to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth that he knew was jealousy. Oh, he didn't crave the girl he had know since her mother had been arrested by the royal guard, leaving him a small child to look after. The girl was like a daughter to him, and though there had been rumours spread through the gypsy camp when he had first risen to their leader, not many had believed the truth behind the words.

Besides, he would have been more tempted by the tall blonde man with the strong jaw, if he didn't hold himself so straight, didn't seem so sure of himself. Those two would make a fine pair, both strong in body and soul, he just hoped that the man would care for the woman he had raised and protected through many of life's mishaps.

He would no longer be there to help and guide her, an old gypsy had no place in the halls of lords and knights. For that was what he would always be, a gypsy, an outcast. No matter how the others might now herald him as a rebel hero, how they looked up to the gypsy dancer, the errant knight and the bell ringer. He knew the fickle nature of the masses, hadn't he made them dance to his tune on more than one occasion?

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. He only hoped for the best for the three, and now with Frollo out of the picture, the tough times they had lived through may ease a little.

"Better the enemy you know." Added the small voice in the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but agree. He had always been the pessimist. Maybe that was why he didn't believe in love.

Looking around him he realised he had let his feet guide him to one of the many entrances of the ransacked home of the gypsies. Bitterness stung through him again, another piece of his life lost as this new era rose. And he couldn't help but feel the change in the air. So many secrets had been revealed, so many skeletons let out of the closet, that the people were forced to recognise, to accept.

To adapt.

He couldn't help but let out a barking laugh at the irony as he stood before one of the many markers of his destroyed home. Through the ashes the gypsies had risen to hero's and the bishop fallen in grace, the world stood on it's head and he could only frown, when he had always held that drawn out smile on his face, no matter what the situation.

He could only see where the world spun now, as he was reminded how life held surprises around each corner.

"Clopin." The soft voice spun him around faster than any command ever could. Behind him stood the bell ringer, half hidden in shadows, half hidden under the ginger brown hair that fell over his eyes.

"Quasimodo." He toned in reply, bowing a little, not a large over emphasised bow with flailing hands and lifted hat, this man deserved respect, for saving his Esmeralda, for going through everything that he had been forced to go through.

"Uh, the bell tower." The man bobbed under his hair, his eyes trained on the ground as he cleared his throat. Clopin couldn't help but see the innocence in the man who was still just a boy. It amazed him the purity that had remained after being raised by Frollo, perhaps the man had done some good in his life, and it had been his downfall. Clopin shook his head, this was no time for ironies, he could play with them later.

"You can look up. I won't bite." Usually there would be a joking character hidden behind his words, but now they were only soft. He didn't want to frighten the man, and for some reason he wanted the bell ringer to trust him.

Green eyes deeper than the almost luminescent eyes of the woman he called daughter, looked up, piercing him. They may have been deeper, darker, but the light they held in them almost took his breath away, they were so open, and Clopin could read so many emotions in them.

Delight, simple happiness, a flush of adrenaline from the night's rescue and the press of the crowd he had been accepted by. Wariness, an uncertainty as he looked up through the mane of hair, as if he wasn't used to looking people in the eye.

Clopin frowned, he had seen too many children, too many servants, surfs with that same guarded look when they had first joined the gypsies and their free but restricted life. He too had possessed that same look, and still knew how easily the mask slipped on when he needed it.

"The gypsies are at the bell tower." The man muttered, looking down again, and Clopin felt the loss. "Father York says you can stay in the bell tower until you find a new home."

"I thought your god didn't accept outcasts as his children." His voice was sharper than he had meant it and he regretted it when the man winced and drew back, it wasn't the bell ringers fault society scorned them.

"I'm just the bell ringer." Clopin didn't have a chance to answer before the man had swung himself up onto a nearby roof with surprising grace and disappeared in a haze of pain. Clopin bit his lip suddenly realising the wound his words would have caused, the man was an outcast as well, even more so than Clopin could ever imagine, he had spent his whole life alone with only a priest and a bishop his link to the outside world. He had been taunted and hunted, labelled a monster by not only the crowd but by the gypsies as well.

Hadn't he been the one to reveal the 'hideous creature' to everyone? Only Esmeralda had looked twice to see the lonely, caring man that everyone had missed. It was something that jarred through the whole of Clopin's being, something he regretted badly.

Hadn't he always been adamant about letting all those who could, no matter what background, join the gypsies, so the outcasts could have a home, could have a place where they belonged? Sure many had questioned his decision, had out right protested when he had stated his intentions when he first became their leader, but he believed everybody had a right to belong. He had stood firm by that line, and through it he had remained a leader longer than most of his predecessors.

Yet he had gone against everything he believed in, and that ashamed him. He had only seen the outside of a person when he had promised himself that he would always look beyond the cover. This fascination with belonging, with not wanting to judge another by their looks had carved itself into his being when he had been young.

His parents, servants, had died in a hunting accident and the master of the house had seen fit to keep him on, he had just been old enough to know how to peel potatoes and looking back, that had probably saved his life, but it had made him an outcast from the beginning, 'favoured'. It didn't help that as he grew, he changed, like all children do, into men. The cook had guessed he was only about seven when his first growth spurt came.

At age seven, tall for his age, with pitch black eyes, too long nose, drawn down chin and the long thin mouth held in the tight grin, he had become and an even larger out cast. They had called him the devil, with burning eyes darker than hell, legs like a fawn, a goat of satan. When the rumours had started spreading he had been kicked out, left homeless to fend for himself.

It didn't take him long to find out that once an outcast, always an outcast.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts and travelling slowly back towards the towering cathedral, he tried to figure out how he could apologise to the man. He knew a quick joke and a simple jest would do little to lighten the wound. Hadn't he been dealt patchwork apologize which only served to sting than to heal with their transparent quality?

"Where have you been?" The voice was a loud hiss in the sudden quiet of the church as he was pulled roughly through the wooden doors at the side of the cathedral.

"Esmeralda." He glanced over her shoulder to the blonde standing behind her, a frown marring his chiselled features. Too much like stone, Clopin thought before turning back to his furious dark skinned daughter.

"Don't Esmeralda me." She growled and Clopin's eyebrow rose, she was definitely angry if she was using _that _tone of voice. But he couldn't figure out why, what was there for her to be angry about? She had her man, she had her new life, no mad bishop out for her head, the public's approval, love. Clopin swallowed the resentment that swelled through him, he didn't have the right to feel the bite of jealousy, she had gone through so much, and he cared for her. She of all people deserved this new chance.

He just didn't want to let her go.

But the fist clutching the neck of his outfit was a sign that she was definitely not going to let him go. And the fury in her eyes made him think twice of being in reaching distance of her. He'd seen her when she was mad, and he had often left in case she had turned her sights onto him. Unfortunately now his two worst case scenarios had happened. He was definitely in her sights, _and_ in comfortable reaching distance.

"What did you do to Quasimodo?"

Clopin blinked at the question.

"What?"

"He went in search for you, and only had time to say he found you before he disappeared into the bells. He won't come down, won't even give any indication of where he is, that he has heard us." The blonde answered, and Clopin felt shame flit through him. This was his fault, his thoughtless words has caused this problem.

"Umph." He grunted as the goat butted him in the back obviously agreeing with him. "I'll go find him just-" He bent backwards uncomfortably, his collar still in Esmeralda's grasp as the goat rushed past him. "just get the goat away from me."

"You better apologise for whatever you did." The girl growled, letting him go suddenly. Unbalanced, he fell onto his back, glaring up at the two from the stone floor. He hated being made a fool out of when it wasn't his doing, or when it wasn't planned.

"It was an accident." He muttered, surging to his feet and stalking toward the bell tower entrance. His long legs carried him up the spiralling stairs two at a time and he had time to calm himself as the endless stone steps disappeared under his feet.

"An accident." He murmured running a hand through his messy black hair. He wasn't sure when he had lost his hat, probably sometime during the raid. The gold jingled across his chest as he slowed his steps, starting to feel the ache in his legs as the stairs continued to wind further up, it felt like he was climbing into the heavens, and the way his multi-coloured outfit was starting to cling to him made him feel out of place.

Gypsies in Notre Dame? He snorted, hand running along the cold colourless stone as he continued up the stairs. The world had definitely turned upside down while he wasn't watching.

Stumbling suddenly out onto a wooden platform he looked around. Large moulded shapes of metal lay far off to the right, a ladder lay a little off to the left, and wooden platforms ran across out in front of him. Moving toward the large moulds of metal he realised they were bells. So large that they seemed almost comical, surreal. He could fit many times inside even the smallest.

Moving around them, the wooden platforms creaking in time to his step, he leant over the railing, his hand coming to rest on the carved brass. Shaped and decorated only for the eyes of the bell ringer. Flowers, forests, birds and small animals ran endless circles, singing out each morning and evening, as they reverberated in the clear air.

"Her names Stephanja." Clopin pulled his hand back at the voice, like he had touched something he wasn't allowed to. Turning slowly he looked behind him to find no one there, except glowing golden dust that danced in the current of someone passing.

"She's beautiful." Clopin found himself saying, moving further into the bells. Eyes searching the ramps for the bell ringer.

"I think so." The voice so close but every time Clopin moved to see, there was no one there. He couldn't figure out how the man was using the bells to resound his voice off the curves.

"What's her name?" He had been suddenly distracted by a smaller bell, a little taller than he was, a dark bronze, with simple but beautiful leaves emblazoned along the bottom rim, bronze berry branches adorning the very top.

"_His _name is Jymal. Clear voiced and strong."

The name suited the bell perfectly.

His fingers caught on the leaves, tracing their curved shape, as he walked around the bell, letting it speak silently to him. Living in the city, caught always in the bustle of the crowd, the loud life of performers, he found beauty in silence, but what he loved most was the silence of things which were cherished for the sounds they made. Not the caught quiet of unnatural stillness, found in grieving homes, in the stone walls of a church.

He loved living silence, the city streets at night, the market places quiet except for the murmur of the occasional guard, he loved the rooftop nests he frequented, the full stillness of a warm egg waiting to hatch. The pause between performances, when the applause had died and the silence of suspense, when everyone waited with bated breath for the finale.

But most of all he loved the content silence of a sleep, not the deep silence of exhaustion after a hard days work, not the restless silence of shallow rest. But of contentedness, the soft sleep of safety, of security, and of belonging.

This bell, though not as intricately detail as the others, darker and a little out of place, slept in that soft soundlessness, a contented belonging.

"He's so beautifully silent."

"No one's ever understood that before." The voice spoke in his ear but Clopin didn't turn, he didn't need to, he knew the man was there with him.

"I love the way they ring, the way they respond to me. But no one ever hears their silence like I do, they only ever hear the bells, the sound."

Clopin blinked, a small smile spreading across his lips. Beauty he found in calm quiet, but joy he found in language. In words, in sounds, in the way they fell of his lips, rolled off his tongue.

"My favourite word." He could feel the presence of the bell ringer close by, but was content to fully circle the small bell without looking back, fingertips travelling along the work.

"Huh?" Confusion in the voice and Clopin couldn't help but let a small laugh bubble past his lips. The golden light played across the brass surface, and the thick silence of the bells, content in their place filled his mind.

"Tintinnabulation. The ringing of bells." Turning he smiled at the man now standing behind him.

"Tin, tin," The bellringer looked adorably confused as he tried to sound out the new word.

"Tin - Tinn - A - Bula - Tion." He repeated a little slower, leaning a little closer to the man.

The bell ringer repeated slowly, tripping over the word when he repeated it rapidly a few more times. Clopin grinned, as he watched another take delight in the word he had always cherished since he could remember. To him words were important and the way they were used, treated, was a telling sign of a persons character.

"Tintinnabulation."

The man laughed and Clopin repeated the word after him.

"Come with me." Quasimodo had taken Clopin's hand and before he could even register the warm and firm grip he was tossed over the broad back as he was hoisted up a bells rope. So this was where he had spoken from, hidden from his view.

Squawking, the broad hand on his upper back shifted to his lower back, half the palm pressed firmly on the upper curve of his buttock. Clopin blinked at the accidental shift as the man swung himself further up, but the sensation was lost as he looked down at the bells. They had climbed up the ropes, hanging meters above the bells that contrasted with the deep darkness that disappeared below them. Wriggling in fright he felt himself slide further off the broad shoulders.

"Don't squirm." The soft voice comforted him. "I won't drop you." The grip was once again shifted as the man changed angle and Clopin bounced forward off the mans shoulder, arms wrapping instinctively around the thick neck. An arm had come to wrap around his waist as the man swung now from rope to rope, the sound of bells rising strong from below them.

Clopin calmed himself long enough to look down, regretting it as they swung from another rope. He let himself instead watch the way the bell ringer moved agilely from rope to rope, catching himself before moving on again, thick arms working, muscles bunching under the dark green shirt. And Clopin realised suddenly that this gentle and quiet man possessed a great deal of hidden strength. A memory of the festival sprung into his mind.

Quazimodo had broken through several restrains when he had been caught, trussed up like an animal. The sudden shame and guilt flushed white hot pain through him. The man hadn't deserved any of it.

"I'm so sorry." The words were out before he could stop them, and the green eyes suddenly piercing him made him turn away.

"For what?"

"For everything. For… for judging you before, without knowing you." The man continued travelling along the ropes, an unnatural silence coating them. Clopin didn't know what to do or say, how could he add anything onto that when his life hung was literally in the other man's hands, he didn't know how to break the awkwardness.

"But you're here now. You knew when to admit to your mistake and that's what's important."

The voice was softer than normal and Clopin could feel the old pain behind it.

"And I'm sorry for what I said today. I didn't mean to say that you're an outcast, it's just…" He trailed off. He didn't know why he had said what he had earlier, was it the loss of his home? The loss of the woman he had raised? The fact that he had taken out his frustrations on the man. That, for a while now, he had felt his leadership slip, and he knew that with the rebuilding of their new home he would no longer be a part of the gypsy clan. That he no longer belonged in this new changing world.

"It feels like you belong less than I do. I have my home, my bells. You… you don't seem to hold onto anything."

Clopin tightened his grip around the thick neck. He didn't answer, letting his silence speak for him.

"Close your eyes." The voice murmured, and he felt the words thrum in the others chest. He closed his eyes, trusting the man who held him. He felt his heart lurch as it felt like they were falling, but he squeezed his eyes tighter shut, the world heaved as the man had obviously caught himself and he gasped at the sensation.

He felt the arm around his waist straighten him, and he felt hard surface beneath his feet. The broad hand left his back and he stood in darkness, bells ringing beneath his feet, vibrating the very structure he stood on.

"Open your eyes." He turned to the voice, opening his eyes. The man stood hunched behind him, eyes searching out something above his head, they caught his and the man smiled amusedly. "You're suppose to look the other way."

Clopin turned, and the breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realised the night had passed, and the view that greeted him reminded him that though the world may have turned upside down, it was still beautiful. The golden glow of the rising sun had stretched out across the sky, clouds caught pink in the new light. Rooftops cramped together gleamed like streams of bronze, the morning light dancing across the surfaces, sinking into the streets to play with the shadows of cobbled stone.

The morning bells he had always woke to shook his very core as he looked out across the city that was his home. This man who he had thought was the largest outcast in this city, had the city at his feet and belonged to the lives of everyone, speaking through the song of the bells, to which everyone responded.

Turning back, seeing the morning light play across the man's face, the wind catch his hair, blowing it back from his face. Clopin couldn't help smile, the man held beauty in the form he tried to hide from others.

"Thank you. For showing me this, for letting me see." His hand had risen, as if to brush the ginger brown hair away from the green eyes were the strands had fallen.

The man turned his gaze to him, looking at the hand hanging balanced in the moment, not moving forward not drawing back. Confusing danced in the eyes, and Clopin let his hand move forward, fingertips brushing the raised cheek, his hand coming to cup the man's face, thumb running across the warm, soft skin of his cheekbone.

The man drew back suddenly, a blush spreading across his cheeks, sinking down, hiding behind his hair. Looking away from Clopin.

"You don't have to hide."

"But I'm hideous." The man mumbled taking a step backwards, still not looking up.

"Esmeralda doesn't think so, Phoebus doesn't think so. I don't think so. You've showed us who you really are, you haven't hidden away, allowing us to see." Clopin stepped forward, he wanted to make the man see that what others said didn't matter, that what they saw and what truly was, was different.

"Really?" The trusting and innocence in that question was painful. How many times had this man been hurt by others? Yet still he trusted.

Clopin leant forward before he could catch himself, thin lips sweeping across fuller ones in a chaste kiss. A mere brushing of lips.

"Truly." He answered, his mind not truly catching up with the way his body had moved forward, had been caught in the moment. He had just kissed the bell ringer out of the blue, but for some reason it didn't surprise him.

Green eyes that looked up at him in surprise, shocked into openness, before the flush quickly spread across them and the man looked down again.

"Don't hide from me Quasimodo." This was the moment, the man would either look up at him or flee from him. Clopin waited with baited breath.

"Can… can you kiss me again?" The voice wavered with uncertainty as eyes looked up again, uncertainty and wariness in them. He feared he would be hurt, rejected.

"With pleasure." Clopin leant down, his lips coming to press on the warm and waiting mouth of the other. Eyes closed he could still see Emerald green and the rising sun over the city. The bells had fallen silent and the world held its breath as the first life of day burst in a cloud of white pigeons.

He had sunk to his knees before the man, before the feelings and realisations that had exploded behind his eyes.

In this world above worlds, full of brass and bronze and golden light, silence and clear tintinnabulation.

He realised that Fools Gold still glittered as bright as it's namesake.

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A/N: Please review and tell me what you thought.


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